


From Beginning to End

by TheShyArtisan



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Complete, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, God of War (2005), No Incest, Two Shot, Vaguely Described Violence, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShyArtisan/pseuds/TheShyArtisan
Summary: Kratos knew from the very moment he had held her that he loved her.A short two shot diving into Kratos' first and last moments with his daughter, Calliope.
Relationships: Kratos & Calliope, Kratos/Lysandra (God of War)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> being an angst ball at 3am instead of sleeping, oops.
> 
> some father/daughter stuff because i am soft and weak for that shit.

The newly born babe in his arms is impossibly small, but Kratos knows from the very moment he holds her that he loves her.

She arrived late into the world a squalling, red faced little thing; he had barely heard the handmaiden's triumphant announcement of "it is a girl, my lord!" over her cries. The words had stolen the strength from his legs and left him almost as breathless as his wife on the birthing table: _a girl. A baby girl._ Then, without much ceremony, the baby was bathed in strong wine, swaddled in linen, and laid upon Lysandra's chest. Only the sound of his wife's voice drew Kratos from his stupor. She called him to her and he stumbled to kneel beside them; pressing kisses into her sweat soaked hair as he stared in silent, joyful awe at the life they had created together.

Now, as his beloved rests, drained from her labor, Kratos tends to his daughter -- _a daughter_ , he thinks, his heart swelling-- cradling her as if she were made of glass. The newborn doesn't fuss or stir, still drowsy from her first feeding, and is more than content to snuffle into her father's chest, seeking his warmth. His throat threatens to close at the sight and he draws her closer to him in a protective embrace.

His fellow soldiers, although congratulatory in their words, had jeered that a man like him --a _warrior_ like him-- should have sired a son. They even suggested that he leave his newborn exposed to the elements-- Sparta needed sons, not daughters: one less daughter would further the glory of their city state.

But their words meant little to Kratos. This was his first born, and he wouldn't part from her for all the riches and glory in the world.

With glory and Sparta momentarily forgotten, Kratos can't help but smile as he gently rocks his child, humming the words to a lullaby his mother once used to soothe him and his brother. Her skin is warm, flushed pink with life and still smells faintly of wine. Kratos brushes his lips over her tiny head and readjusts her in his arms.

"My little girl," he rumbles, "my little Calliope."

They named her Calliope.

And she was his whole world.


	2. The End

Years ago, Kratos knew from the very moment he had held her that he loved her.

The night of Calliope's birth had been one of the more happier moments of his life and she seemed to grow from small babe to young child in the blink of an eye. But she left the world too early, a screaming, red faced little thing; torn from his life by the swing of his own blade. He didn't even hear her pleading cries over the roar of his blood, lost in the rush of another kill. It was only the sound of her final scream that drew him back to his senses. The sight of her crumpled body stole the strength from his legs and left him as breathless as the dead that surrounded them. 

_My child..._ my little girl _... how?_

The blades fall from his hands in a clatter of chains and metal, and Kratos stumbles to kneel beside her. His beloved Lysandra lay not far away, gutted like the rest of the congregation. The walls of the temple seem to press in on him, groaning and creaking as the flames continue to spread; the air hot and rank with the stench of cooking flesh.

Careful of the chains overlapping his forearms, Kratos slips his hands under Calliope and cradles her against his chest, handling her as if she were made of glass. Her skin is light compared to his own -- _she always did take after her mother_ , he thinks bitterly-- cooling against his warmth.

_I left you safe in Sparta..._

His throat threatens to close, choking him from the smoke and the sob he can't seem to hold back. He brushes the disarrayed curls from her face and places a kiss over each of her closed eyes. 

And there, kneeling amongst the blood and the lost in the burning temple, Kratos rocks his daughter, humming the words to the lullaby his mother once used to soothe him and his brother to sleep. 

They had named her Calliope.

And she was his world. 


End file.
